(not all of this is mine, i recycled other parts of the yawn series)

-------------

the closer i look, i can see

the fishing line is a black thread (not silk)

thin and barely noticeable

hear the echoes of

bird chirping

creaking of my ghosts on the stairs,

ringing in my ear as my eyes trace

the single black thread, vivid in my soul

following my eye across the line

black as the night of an eclipse

vast, hiding all things in it

i race forward

conscious of the rising memories

old and new

the water waves that

overlap and wash over me

and drown into the m u d d i e d

s o i l of my soul

skipping over me

kissing my shadow

as i follow the line and

run on the waters

my seas

m y o c e a n s

towards the other end of the

the shore

of my heart to...

t h e l a s t l i n e

tangles of trees strangled

in dead vines

and caked clay

can you hear it?

the c r y of a voice in the dead of

the night

. (it's near)

t h e l a s t l i ne

i race forward,

jump! o

v

e

r the edge of the water

and tumble in the vines

dirt trapped in my nails

my hands stained with earth

dead vines spreading along my

calf and my chest

crimson red trickling down

my eyes follow the fishing line

no. i was

too hasty

too risky

there's black and blue

on my skin

and the water catching up

behind me

then.

all of sudden

there's an answer to the

cry to the ghosts and all sounds

silence

the

page flicks and turns

and i can see

i can feel it

the dimming heart is

on fire

burning with passion

and under my heart

in the water

there's sunlight

the pen is lying on top of

fresh new page

and suddenly, its so clear

—inside a place where sounds

and sights make perfect sense—

with one last long look at the

fishing line

at the barb

the (tangled and caught) last line

i turn away and

walk away

from the vines and trees

letting myself drown

in the water

the sunlight surrounds me

and breathes into my bones

as i yawn

the waters filling inside me like

oxygen

as i drink all i was

all i will be

and—

and—

it unravels to me

everything

the pen waits for the page waits

for a new person to start

a new story

a new protector

for the eyes and ears and nose

and mouth to

dispel the lack of

understanding and integrity

that junks the land

(i understand now)

mine has ended:

and with that, i close my eyes

and enter sleep

t h e r e w a s n o l a s t l i n e

. only unfinished poems and

writing

only abandoned poems and writing

waiting for someone to pick up the pen

and carry on

mine has ended but will continue

someday

for now,

i pass the pen...

and let creativity flow.

--------

part one: https://theprose.com/256062/yawn

part two: https://theprose.com/256070/yawn

part three: https://theprose.com/256248/yawn

part four: https://theprose.com/256305/yawn

part five: https://theprose.com/256340/yawn

part six: https://theprose.com/256375/yawn

the blanket covers me whole, wrapped around me and i imagine, it’s you.

hovering over me, your sturdy arms keeping me steady. and it’s warm here, safe. i snuggle further into the bed, and breathe.

faintly, in the back of my mind, i can feel the sun rising, feel it’s beams of light shining through my room. my eyes are closed, i can’t see it but can feel it. and it’s irritating. i want the dark. i want you.

faintly, in the back of my mind, i can hear loud voices and muffled footsteps from beyond my door. the family waking awake. and it’s irritating. i want to hear your voice. i want you.

but you are not here, not here (beside me) only your remains that i desperately try cling to.

~

the why

see to

we why

do it

is

we

all

ex

is

t?

•

was young,

my parents gave me love,

and sorrow

never touched me.

was a teenager,

another love

touched me,

but it was crushed

when she went away.

was a young man,

where bombs fell,

blood spilled,

where friendships died,

and I cried for them all.

was in love,

where marriage

brought children;

our children

brought grandchildren.

was an old man,

when I buried

my true love,

next to my parents,

next to two sons.

was in my quiet time,

alone

and waiting,

tears falling,

awaiting my turn.